


Almost Love

by EarlGay



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drinking, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 10:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5740789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarlGay/pseuds/EarlGay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their relationship never was a truly healthy one, not that he would have ever admitted it to anyone but himself. Unhealthy as it may have been, he could never have stopped loving him. Not like he so often had wished he could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_ He awoke to the sound of someone screaming. He didn’t know the voice, it was too gruff, too low to be his own. His was a clean voice, with a scream that sounded almost juvenile. Whoever had screamed was not the Q, whom he had known. Not the sarcastic but caring, brilliant man who was head of his Branch. No, it couldn’t have been. That scream was one of a pained, broken, unused voice that had been carelessly forgotten about. But then again... _

_ How long had it been? Since he’d spoken? Since he’d eaten something? Since he’d slept more than two hours, or gotten out of bed, or checked his phone? His laptop? Done anything more than shift his arm to bring the water bottle to his lips, sipping from it only to keep himself from dehydration-- not that he drank more than a few sips a day. He’d been using the same bottle for what he could assume was about a week now; he’d need to refill it soon. Or maybe, he would just let it run out. Drink until he couldn’t anymore, and give up for good. The only reason he had still held on was because he had assumed it would be easier to recover, to try and forget. If only he had known how sorely he had been mistaking. _

_ Their relationship never was a truly healthy one, not that he would have ever admitted it to anyone but himself. Unhealthy as it may have been, he could never have stopped loving him. Not like he so often had wished he could. Not like the people around him who had figured it out had told him.  _

_“Pack up and leave.” Moneypenny had once told him. “You can stay at my place, until we can get things back on track for you.”_ _Of course, he had ignored her. He couldn’t. He loved James, too much, he had realized. He had cared too much for a man who, at the start, had loved him the same, but somewhere along the way had left him. Not physically, but mentally. He started to break, to lose the parts of him that made himself the man that Q knew as James. Bit by bit, until there was almost nothing left._

_ Maybe it had been his voice, that echoed through the emptiness of the apartment, that woke him from his evidently short slumber. It was his eyes that burned from his almost perpetual state of crying. His face that looked so worn, so sunken in, no longer a young man with a clean complexion. His body that no longer moved except through extreme exertion. His throat that stung from the semi-regular bouts of vomiting-- or rather coughing up bile-- and screaming. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of Bond on the sheets that he hadn’t left in forever. Tears flowed freely as they had come to do every waking moment.  _

_ “I’m sorry…” _

  
  


_ \--- _

 

“Hands off, 007,” Q scolded, not looking up from his laptop. The agent paused, before setting down the gun he had picked up off the testing table. Seeking some form of entertainment, he had decided to swing around Q Branch, and see if his Quartermaster had had anything more exciting than paperwork for him to do. 

“What’s the point of making guns if I don’t get the chance to use them?” Bond questioned. 

“You seem to forget, 007, that there are other double-oh agents who need weapons and gadgets. Not just yourself.” 

Bond rolled his eyes, before scanning the room  in search of something Q could not determine. He walked around the room, checking in cabinets and on tables, never uttering a word. His footsteps echoed through the relatively empty room, keeping their own tempo. Q raised an eyebrow. 

“Got any alcohol in this place?” James asked, eyes still searching, despite having halted his search. Q sighed in disappointment.

“Alcohol is not to be consumed in this office, with the exception of work parties. You know that-- in fact, you’ve gotten your hand slapped repeatedly for breaking that very rule.”

“You mean this isn’t a party?” He asked innocently, his ever-present smirk plastered playfully upon his face. 

“I truly don’t get paid enough for this...,” Q mumbled, rolling his eyes. He adjusted his glasses, locking gazes with Bond for a moment, before lowering his head and re-focusing on his work. Although Q did agree with the opinions that he voiced around the agent, he never said them in the way he would with any other person. The kind, quiet part of him disappeared, putting up a wall of harsh-- at least, for him-- defense. It was easier to toe the line of being a stingy and pretentious bastard then to let himself be true around James. He had heard the rumours, of how dangerous it was to get involved with him, to gain his trust. How he was never one to be trusted. However, in spite of it all, Q had developed a liking for the mysterious man, James Bond. Everytime he saw him his heart fluttered, every time he heard him speak the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He did a good job of hiding it, at first. He remained strictly professional around the man he had come to adore. But after months of nothing, he started to slip up. After all, a man can only catch you staring at him so many times before he starts suspecting. 

Bond had promised himself he wouldn’t get involved with anyone ever again. He had stayed faithful to himself for a long time. But with the abrupt arrival of Q, his faithfulness began to waver. He could no longer sleep with person after person without feeling anything. No longer drink himself to bed with the thought of sleep the only object on his mind. He felt guilty, spending his free time wasting away what precious little life he had left. Once again, the possibility of spending his life with someone became an almost pleasant thought. Q began invading his thoughts, unknowingly, becoming his reason to truly live.

“Bond’s not causing you too much trouble, is he, Q?” A familiar voice piped up from the doorway. Both men’s heads turned to face the female figure awaiting Q’s response. 

“Not at all, Moneypenny.” Q said quickly, smiling softly. He shut the lid to his laptop, getting out of his chair and taking a few steps in Moneypenny’s direction. “I assume there’s a reason you’re here…?”

“There may be, but it can wait a bit if you two are busy.” She smiled, trailing off suggestively. 

Q felt his face go hot, and he pulled up his collar. 

“No, not busy. Just discussing my next mission.” Bond said, saving Q from having to speak. “I was on just leaving, anyways.” He walked up to Eve, gently picking up her hand and kissing the top of it. “Always a pleasure, Miss Moneypenny.” Q felt like a dagger had just stabbed him in the chest. James turned to face Q, whose mouth was covered by his shirt, and face was now angled towards the ground. “Q,” He nodded, almost giving a genuine smile before disappearing out the door. 

Eve smirked, Q glaring at her angrily. 

“You know that he likes you, Q,” She said, walking towards him. “You two need to talk about it--” Q cut her off, ignoring her remarks. 

“So what was it you needed me for?” He asked, slipping his phone into his pocket. Moneypenny sighed, shaking her head slightly. Bond and Q would have to talk about this at some point. She knew that it was tearing Q apart, slowly. She knew that Bond was teasing Q, and even though he would never intentionally hurt the man. It was taking it’s toll on Q’s mental state. If one of them would just confess, if they would just talk it out.

“004 needs his tech for this mission. He’s got to be at the airport in two hours.” She sighed. Q nodded, eyes glancing to the briefcase that held the preparations for 004’s mission. 

“I’ll be right there. Thank you for telling me. I’ll see you about later, I suppose.” He said, clearly dismissing the woman. 

“Yeah,” She paused, “see you, Q.” She was hesitant to leave, but decided it would be better not to push him. If she really needed to talk to him they could do it outside of the office. Q was always stressed out anyways, let alone with her pestering him about his love life. 

Once Moneypenny had left, Q collapsed into his chair. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he ran his hand through his hair. This was exhausting-- the constant back and forth between him and James, the conflicting feelings that Bond showed around him. He couldn’t keep this up. Not forever. Slowly, gathering himself, he wiped his eyes and stood. He took a number of deep breaths, before grabbing 004’s briefcase, and heading out of the office. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first 00Q fic, so my apologies if the characters aren't quite right-- I'm still getting used to playing them! Shout out to my editor Julia (who I share this account with, so look for some work by her to in the future) who catches my errors and is attempting to break my terrible writing habits. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter, as I had a ton of fun writing it!


	2. Chapter 2

_   Knock, knock, knock. _

_ His eyes snapped open before closing almost entirely once again in retaliation to the sunlight that seeped generously through a slit in the curtains.It made his room the brightest it had been in a long time. He had discovered in the early days that laying with his eyes closed hurt less than staring blankly at the wall. The little sleep that he had managed to get before had now become impossible, his mind refusing to rest despite his body’s constant attempts to pull him towards slumber. Had it been six days? Seven? Nine? He had no way to tell. He had lost all track of time within what he assumed was the first three days. Not that it mattered, how long it had been. No amount of time could fix this. _

_ Knock, knock, knock.  _

_ Each sharp sound made him cringe, ears twitching in retaliation. He’d only heard fairly quiet sounds for a long time-- his senses did not adapt well to the sudden change. Silence followed the last rapping noises before a faint clicking noise sounded. He couldn’t place the sound, his mind too groggy and sorrow-filled to think with clarity. It was familiar, something he used to hear daily. Yet, at this moment, he felt only dread hearing the soft sound. _

_ The front door creaked open. Q bit the inside of his cheek, waiting. Another person had entered his apartment, putting him on edge. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that they would just leave him alone to break himself piece by piece until he was no more. His prayers went unanswered. Soft footsteps barely audible trailed through the flat, the occasional floorboard moaning in protest. He clenched his jaw harder on his cheek, the taste of blood seeping onto his tongue. He welcomed the sensation. Numbness had overtaken him, consuming what little hope he had had left or himself. This small amount of pain was almost comforting in comparison. _

_ “Q?” A voice said quietly, thick with pity. He tensed up, hoping that if he remained motionless they would leave him alone to die. _

_ Moneypenny quietly made her way to the bed, seating herself by  Q’s feet. She felt nothing but melancholy for him. He had given his everything to James, in spite of all that had happened. He didn’t deserve this.  _

_ “It’s-It’s been 9 days Q.” She spoke softly hoping not to frighten him. “You haven’t answered any texts or emails-- no one’s been able to contact you.” She paused. “M is requesting you to be back at work on Monday. He can give you reduced hours, but if you’re not at work by then you will be fired.”  _

_ Slowly Q opened his eyes. He could feel tears run down his cheeks but ignored them. He wanted to let them fire him. The sheer thought of standing on his own two feet made him feel nothing but dread -- let alone returning to the office where so much of their time together had taken place. _

_ “I c-can’t --” He whispered, his voice gravelly strained. It pained his throat to talk, his muscles contracting in defiance. Moneypenny wouldn’t have heard the sound if not for the dead silence that surrounded them. Even the slightest shift between the sheets could be heard. The whole place felt as if it had been abandoned for years; thick layers of dust covered almost every surface. She paused for a minute, panic over taking her thoughts. _

_ “When was the last time you ate?” She asked, hoping that she wouldn’t receive the answer she was expecting.  _

_ Her prayers went unanswered. Q remained silent, not daring to attempt speaking again. He knew that Moneypenny had already known the answer before her inquiry. “Q. You’re going to starve yourself to death.” Her gaze migrated towards the empty water bottle at his side that looked hopelessly forgotten. “Is that all you’ve had to drink? How long has it been empty?” She frowned, feeling more and more worry with each passing moment. Q looked like he was on the verge of death. His skin was pale, eyes sunken in. The beginnings to an unkempt beard covered the lower half of his face. He looked thinner than Moneypenny had ever seen him, his already petite figure making him look dethly ill beneath the covers. “Q.., answer me.”He remained silent, shutting his eyes again. _

 

\---

 

Alcohol burned his throat, each gulp making him wince. The taste was bitter and unpleasant, foul in his mouth. But the pain it brought was almost soothing, helping him drown out all of the other thoughts that tormented his brain. The now half empty bottle of whiskey that once sat on a table next to a glass was now clutched in his hand as he laid sprawled across the floor. He had lost his glasses somewhere between the kitchen and the living room floor -- not that having them would help him to see through the tears that blurred everything out. He curled himself into the ball, brought the bottle to his mouth and gulped down miserable mouthful after mouthful.

Some time later, he heard someone open his front door. He thought about getting up to go and see who it was. No one else had a flat key, as far as he was aware. He thought about it. But he didn’t do it. He didn’t know why maybe he couldn’t find the motivation, or simply did not care about anything at this moment other than James Bond and the bottle in his arms.

Footsteps muffled by carpeting were barely audible, but Q knew once the intruder was standing only a meter or two away. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that maybe if he didn’t acknowledge it, they would just go away. 

“Q?”

_ No. _

He could feel hands wrap around his whiskey bottle, prying it from him. He expected to hear the bottle set down on a table, or being dumped onto the floor. Instead, he heard silence. His curiosity got the best of him, and he slowly opened his eyes, glancing up at the man who had just broken into his apartment. Bond stood still, Q’s whiskey bottle pressed to his lips, drinking the remainder. Q watched in fascination as James drank mouthful after mouthful, not flinching in the slightest. Once the glass bottle had been emptied, James set it down on the coffee table. 

“That really is terrible whiskey.”

“Then why’d you drink it?” Q snapped defensively. 

“I doubt you’d have anything better. You don’t really drink alcohol.” Bond replied. Silence followed for what seemed like a much longer time than it had been, before he spoke up again. “Got any more?”

The Quartermaster scowled, but nodded. He began to stand, legs shaking. He gripped the arm of a chair, using it to pull himself upright. Bond chuckled. 

“Can’t hold your liquor?” 

“Shut it, 007. I have ha-half a mind to kick you out.” Q struggled to form proper sentences without slurring his words, let alone piecing all of his words together in the right order. He hated the way alcohol affected him. He couldn’t move, speak or think like he wanted to, even if he’d only had a glass of wine. There was a reason he stuck to drinking tea more often than not. 

Using pieces of furniture, he pulled himself towards the kitchen where he kept his small collection of cheap whiskeys and scotches. Bond followed, watching with amusement as the drunk Quartermaster tried to walk. Bond, as someone who could hold his liquor, found it highly amusing when others struggled to function properly after consuming alcohol. 

Q reached the liquor cabinet, pulling open the doors. The cupboard was above the counter, and the alcohol was kept at the top. He stood on his tip toes to reach it, fingers grabbing at the necks of one of the bottles. He didn’t know what he was grabbing at, as he was still not wearing his glasses. One of his fingers caught on the top of a bottle, which then tipped over and fell out of the cupboard. 

“Shit!” Q cussed, taking a half-step backwards. However, Bond must have been closer than he looked, as the crashing sound never came, and once Q’s eyes had opened, the bottle was already being opened in Bond’s hands. 

“Something wrong, Q?” He smirked, bringing the now opened bottle of scotch to his mouth and taking a sip. 

“Shut it.” He mumbled angrily. He began to storm away, not wanting to have to look at Bond’s smug expression. He didn’t need to deal with his own emotions and Bond at the same time. Not tonight. Unexpectedly, Q felt his legs give out, too distracted and weak to function. The floor came rushing to greet him. He squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for impact. Maybe the fall would knock him out, then he wouldn’t have to deal with the agent. That seemed like a pleasant thought-- just forget about everything to do with Bond for a while. 

The fall should have been shorter. It should have been over by now. But it wasn’t. Slowly, hesitantly, he let his eyes open. His unfocused gaze was met by a pair of icey blue, cold, eyes. He could feel the warmth of strong arms around his back. It took him a moment to process what was going on. For a moment, he remained still, the sound of their breaths all that Q could focus on. He swallowed, biting his lip. Bond had caught him. Bond held him, making him feel safe.

James had quickly set down the bottle, stepping in the path of the falling Quartermaster. Silently, swiftly he caught him, dipping him slightly to cushion the fall. He waited for Q to open his eyes again, to reassure that he was okay. A few moments later, Q did just that. Bond stared into his absurdly beautiful green eyes, finding himself lost in its layers. His tongue darted out of his mouth, moistening his lips, as he broke their gaze to only scan up and down his body once, meeting his eyes once again. They held each other's gazes for what felt like forever, finally Q breaking the silence. 

“W-where’s the liquor?” He asked, quieter than he spoke before. Slowly, and penitently, Bond pulled Q to his feet, gesturing to the almost forgotten bottle of scotch. Q immediately leant against the counter, snatching up the cold, glass bottle. Without a second thought, he gulped down the amber liquid, only stopping when the burning in his throat became overwhelming and he began to cough in retaliation to the bitter substance. Dribbles of scotch ran down his chin as he rested his elbows on the counter, head in his hand. Bond eased the bottle out of Q’s hand. 

“Q, slow down.” He kept his voice strict, yet understanding. Q was unfathomed by the way Bond managed to portray two emotions at once with just his voice. But at this moment, he didn’t care how. Tonight was supposed to be his night to get wasted, be alone, and not have to deal with his emotions. Let them eat away at his mind until he got so drunk he couldn’t stand and passed out. Bond wasn’t supposed to show up. Not tonight. 

“D-Don’t tell me what to do, Bond!” He spat, moving as quickly as he could out of the kitchen, shoving James out of the way in the process. He stumbled towards the living room, his whole body aching in protest, his legs seeming to disobey every order he gave them. “Damn you!” He called back at Bond, his eyes brimming with tears as his body gave up and he collapsed to the floor. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the emotions that were preventing him from thinking logically. Maybe it was both. “Damn you…” He repeated to himself in a whisper as sobs wracked his body. 

James lingered in the kitchen. He hadn’t said a word when Q had pushed him.  _ Q.  _ He hadn’t moved as he watched Q stumble through the apartment and out of sight.  _ You’re going to hurt yourself. _ He hadn’t flinched when Q had cursed him.  _ Calm down, please _ . He had wanted to. But he hadn’t. Instead, he left the smaller man alone. He left him to wallow in self-pity, as he was about to do himself. He glanced at the clock, sighing as he realized he wouldn’t be able to sleep for a few more hours anyways. Picking up the bottle from the counter, he sunk to the floor, and, remaining in silence, began to drink.

About an hour later, not that either of the two had been paying any attention to the time, Bond tensed at the sudden noise of footsteps pounding through the apartment. He stood carefully, glad he had stopped drinking halfway through the bottle. He knew a whole bottle consumed by himself could kill him. Plus, half was plenty to drown out his thoughts. The footsteps were followed by the sound of a door being thrown open, and then heaving noises. 

“Q?” He made his way toward the bathroom, pausing on his way to pick up the glasses that had been tossed carelessly on the floor. Upon finally reaching the bathroom, Bond leaned against the doorway, watching Q while his head spun in circles. 

Q barely had time to breathe in between heaves. Every time he thought it was over, another wave of nausea overtook him. He was back with his hands gripping so tightly to the edge of the toilet that his knuckles turned white, and his body hunched over bowl. After a number of minutes spent emptying the contents of his stomach, his whole mouth bitter and foul-tasting. He stood, legs shaking and unstable. He leant on the edge of the counter to hold himself up, panting softly. He turned on the tap, cupping his hands together to catch the falling water. All he felt was cold. All his other senses having gone numb hours ago. Q splashed the water onto his face, not caring that he soaked the top of his shirt in the process. He spat into the sink, before filling his mouth with water and rinsing it out, not that it made much of an impact of the bitter taste that the drink had left. He put his head under the water, standing there for a few moments, letting the cold rush over him. The outside of his body was ice cold, contrasting harshly with the warmth that the alcohol had spread through his chest. Slowly, turning off the tap, he reached blindly for the towel. His fingers closed around the fabric. He brought it to his head, beginning to dry off his face and hair. His hands shook as he dried, eventually giving up and dropping the towel.  Q turned to leave the bathroom, and only then noticed Bond in the doorway.

“Shit--!” He cried, taken aback by the man’s presence. “How long have you b-been there?” 

“Almost the whole time.” He responded. Before Q could shout something back, he handed him his glasses. “Here.”

Q hesitated, before reaching his hand out and taking the eyewear from Bond. He unfolded the arms, slowly, to make sure he didn’t drop them, before sliding them onto his face. His vision came flooding back to him, the sight of clear shapes almost forgotten in his drunken stupor. He blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to picking up small details again. 

“Thank you.” Q murmured, before moving past Bond and towards the living room. He stumbled the entire way there, cursing when he had nearly tripped over one of his cats. Bond followed cautiously, leaving enough room between them that Q wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. 

He needed to sit. His limbs becoming uncooperative, becoming more and more difficult to use. He assumed that in his current state things couldn’t get much worse if he drank more. So he did. Upon reaching the couch and finding Bond’s half-consumed bottle of scotch on the coffee table he curled up in the corner seat and sipped from the bottle like a child. 

James sat down next to Q, leaving some space. He watched him drink, trying to calculate about how much more the Quartermaster could drink before his life was in danger. Bond knew he was nearing that point, but with his impaired cognitive and motor functions, the task was impossible to do properly. He watched his chest rise and fall, watched as the man shivered like he was outside with no clothes on a frigid winter day. He watched as Q held out the bottle, and without thinking, he took it, bringing the cold glass bottle to his mouth. James took a mouthful, letting the liquid sit on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. He handed the bottle back to Q. Who took a sip respectively. Q hugged the bottle like it was the only thing keeping him alive. 

“Why do you hate me?” He asked softly, voice barely audible. 

“I don’t.”

“Yes you do!” He cried, tears springing to his eyes. “You act like, like you might love me, but then you run off to have sex with every woman that makes eye contact with you!” He took a deep breath. “I don’t...understand….” He sobbed, shuddering as tears ran down his face.

Bond met Q’s sorrow-filled eyes. Without a second thought he grabbed Q’s shirt, pulling them together to meet at the lips. 

Q immediately felt a foreign warmth flood through him. After months of feeling so cold and alone. He welcomed the sensation. His hands worked their way to the side of James’ head. Bond’s hands already situated on Q’s hips. The kiss was passionate, Q melting into his arms, making the moment last as long as possible. He didn’t protest as Bond pushed him down onto the couch. Every touch, every movement that James made sent shivers down Q’s spine. These shivers ones of pleasure rather than the cold, empty ones he had felt before. They separated, both taking a moment to catch their breath.

“‘Told you I don’t hate you.” James breathed. 

“No shit.” Q mumbled, before bringing his mouth to Bond’s again. His body craved the man; his touch, his taste, his smell. James rubbed his groin against Q’s, the smaller man letting out a small moan. Both men were too intoxicated to think about taking things slow. It was sloppy and messy and Q loved every second of it. He needed it. He let the moment consume him, each touch taking him closer and closer to forgetting why he had gotten drunk in the first place.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so this one is more than twice as long as the last one I may or not have gotten carried away...  
> Anyways, a lot happened in this chapter, and it was tons of fun to write! More chapters to come-- hopefully once a week at most, but probably sooner! Thank you for the kudos, you guys are great!


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